Page 15 of An Unwanted Widow for the Duke (The Unwanted Sisters #3)

Chapter Ten

“ D o you know what each of these numbers means?” Hector asked eagerly. “Will I understand them when I reach your age?”

He leaned over the desk, his small hands braced on the polished wood, peering at the neat columns of figures in the open ledger. His finger hovered above the page, careful not to touch the ink—Gerard had taught him that lesson early on.

“You will, in time,” Gerard replied, his eyes still scanning the entries before him. “That is why you must pay attention during your arithmetic class. One day, you will need to know how much you have spent and how much you have earned.”

He sat in his high-back leather chair, worn smooth from years of use.

To him, numbers were a comfort. Orderly, consistent, far less troublesome than people. Still, he was not alone in the task. His steward, Mr. Fairchild, sat opposite him, poring over another stack of papers.

Gerard was grateful for the man’s conscientious service; with Fairchild managing rent, sales, and expenditures, the burden was less heavy.

“That looks dreadfully dull,” Hector declared, wrinkling his nose. “Mr. Williams makes arithmetic interesting, though.”

“You are still young,” Gerard said evenly. “What entertains you now may not entertain you later. Many gentlemen hire experts to manage their accounts. We have Mr. Fairchild, who does his work very well. Yet that does not mean you should know nothing of it. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.”

“You have a very inquisitive boy, Your Grace,” the steward remarked with a chuckle, his eyes never leaving the page. “He will make a fine duke one day.”

Gerard’s mouth curved despite himself. He reached across to ruffle his son’s hair.

“He can be relentless. Hector…” His voice softened as he addressed the boy. “There is a new globe in the waiting room. Going over expenditures reminded me.”

“Not new anymore, Papa,” Hector corrected promptly. “I have already spun it no fewer than three times. Perhaps more.”

Gerard sighed, though his heart warmed. He liked having the boy near, liked seeing what mischief he was thinking up.

Hector got up and became swiftly engrossed in studying the spines of books on the shelves.

Someday, no doubt, he would claim to be weary of ledgers and volumes, but Gerard doubted it. The boy had his focus, tempered by a brighter wonder at the world.

“Your Grace,” Fairchild spoke, closing the last ledger with care. “We have balanced all accounts. After draining the marshlands last year, revenues have increased by eight percent.”

Gerard let out a long sigh—not of relief, for he had expected no less, but of the quiet satisfaction of confirmed order.

“Excellent. That will be all for now, Fairchild. Go home to your family,” he said, setting his pen aside and signing the last page.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I will have the figures for your new investments ready before the week is out,” Fairchild replied with a small bow, then withdrew.

Gerard turned to his son. “As for you, Hector, we are leaving the study. We have other things to see.”

The city seemed busier than ever, the late-morning crowd pressing into every street. Hawkers called out their wares, carriage wheels clattered over cobblestones, and the air was thick with a jumble of scents—fresh bread, leather, perfume, and horse manure.

A wave of relief washed over Wilhelmina as she and Victoria stepped into Chalmers and Sons Bookshop.

The hush inside wrapped around her like balm.

She breathed in the scent of paper, ink, and polished wood, delighting in the faint perfume of dust motes as they drifted through shafts of sunlight slanting between the shutters.

Almost at once, the sisters broke apart, each lured by a different aisle. Victoria gravitated toward the travelogues, her eyes widening at every spine she skimmed.

“Imagine riding an elephant through India,” she murmured, holding up a thick volume as though it were a passport.

Wilhelmina smiled faintly. There were times when she longed to escape London, to abandon its endless demands.

But then she thought of her younger sisters and reminded herself that her role was not so easily shed.

Perhaps, when they were finally wed to influential men, she might scandalize everyone by vanishing abroad.

Turning to a shelf of poetry, she quickly found the slim volume she had been hunting for recently.

“One thing I am imagining,” she said lightly, “is the horror of being trapped at the modiste with Mother and Daphne. I can hardly survive the pins and prods when I am alone, but add Mother’s running commentary, and it becomes unbearable.”

“Books are infinitely preferable,” Victoria declared, flipping eagerly through a travel journal. “I am certain you’re just like me, Mina. Searching for a way out of this stifling world. More dresses are not the solution.”

“Well, I am a widow,” Wilhelmina said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I have proved myself marriageable at least once. You, however, may not be spared the modiste’s attentions.”

Victoria nodded with mock solemnity. “In that case, I ought to marry an ailing old lord at once. Widowhood would be my swiftest escape.”

Wilhelmina let out a laugh. “Choose carefully, Sister. Old men are not always obliging enough to die on schedule. You might find yourself shackled for decades, and Mother would be arranging your next match before your mourning veils were even folded away.”

“True,” Victoria conceded with a dramatic sigh. “But if luck was on my side, I could spend my widowhood exactly as I pleased. Perhaps even frighten off second suitors by cultivating a bad reputation. Think how peaceful that would be.”

Wilhelmina shook her head fondly. “You make widowhood sound enviable.”

“Not enviable, but strategic ,” Victoria corrected with a grin.

Her levity made Wilhelmina’s chest tighten, though she hid it.

Widowhood was not freedom, not truly. Still, Wilhelmina kept it to herself.

Eventually, each sister selected a book, and they made their way to the counter.

Beyond the window, the streets still teemed with noise and movement, but inside the bookshop, all was calm, as though time itself had slowed.

Wilhelmina was passing her book to the shopkeeper when a voice suddenly called out, “Lady Slyham!”

She started, only to see something small and sturdy run toward her.

It was Hector. Flushed from the crisp morning air and excitement, he looked impossibly alive. His eyes sparkled with glee as he stopped in front of her.

“You’re here, too!” he exclaimed, panting.

“As you can see,” Wilhelmina said, sweeping her arm dramatically. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your governess, studying diligently, Lord Hector?”

“Well, not at the moment, My Lady. Father and I are running errands,” he replied, grinning.

Wilhelmina looked up and spotted the Duke of Talleystone a few steps behind him.

“Oh. Are you?” she asked lightly.

“Yes. But I persuaded Papa to bring me. I love stories,” Hector said, puffing up his chest proudly.

“Your Grace,” Wilhelmina and Victoria greeted, curtsying.

The Duke nodded once. “Lady Slyham. Lady Victoria.”

In the soft daylight, the Duke’s eyes held the calm at the center of a storm, dark gray and blue mingling like clouds and sky.

Wilhelmina cleared her throat before turning to Hector. “Have you met my sister, Lady Victoria?” she asked. “Vicky, this is Lord Hector, the Duke’s son. And, of course, he’s with his father, who requires no introduction.”

“What are those in your hands, Lady Victoria?” Hector asked eagerly.

“A few travelogues,” Victoria replied, her eyes wide with excitement. “I long to explore the world someday. I also picked a book about pirates, for I adore adventure stories, and some folk tales from distant lands.”

“They all sound splendid!” Hector cried. “I would love to travel too, if Papa will allow it.”

He glanced at his father, silently seeking reassurance.

“When you are older, Hector,” the Duke said.

Wilhelmina couldn’t help but reflect on the disparity between widows and widowers, how her freedom was measured differently, and how the Duke could simply stride through the world while she had to navigate invisible boundaries.

“Your father is right,” she murmured, though her eyes stayed on Hector.

The boy’s delight softened into something quieter, more contemplative. He and Victoria had seamlessly fallen into conversation, a small bubble of innocence in a world that often demanded far too much.

Wilhelmina shook her head at the thought of women vying for the Duke’s attention, oblivious to his devotion to his son.

“Lady Slyham, have you seen the shelf with the knights and dragons?” Hector asked, tugging at her sleeve.

“Why, not yet, Lord Hector. I’d love to see it,” she replied, letting him lead her to a corner of the shop she had not yet explored.

The Duke remained a silent shadow a few paces behind, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable. His presence unsettled her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Hector’s small fingers trailed along the spines of books as he guided her. “Here, My Lady. You’d enjoy this one,” he said, handing her a slim volume.

Wilhelmina flipped through it, noting the sparse illustrations. “You read beyond your years, My Lord,” she observed.

“Yes, I do,” he confirmed proudly. “You should see more of my books at home.”

“I-I don’t think that would be proper,” she stammered, aware of the Duke’s gaze on her.

“That would be wonderful,” Victoria blurted, then glanced at the Duke nervously.

Hector turned to her eagerly. “Can I show you some of my favorite adventure stories if you ever visit?”

“Oh, certainly! I’d love to read as many adventure stories as I can; I consider them practice for adventures I’ll embark on someday!” Victoria replied, beaming.

“May I join you one day?” Hector asked, his eyes wide.

“You have many plans, My Lord,” Victoria hedged. “When you’re grown, perhaps. Only time will tell.”